He wasn’t sure what triggered it this time. The constant ups and downs were beginning to get to him as much as they were getting to his bandmates. He knew he was suffering. He thought he had lost all ability to perform - to sing and to dance - and to create what he loved most. Music.
There was a time long ago - before the band had created itself - when he was having the same problems he was finding himself having now. It was a struggle to get out of bed in the morning – he was always disappointed that he had yet again made it through the night. It was more often than not that he slept past noon – sleep was the only activity that ever held interest for him when he felt this way.
He had no desire to contact his friends – he let his voicemail answer every call. He began to lose weight because even when he tried to eat he felt nauseous and regurgitated the meal he had just consumed.
A sunken _expression gazed back at him every time he looked in the mirror. His blue eyes that once shone with excitement were now hollow, unfeeling. His skin held no color. He looked gaunt.
If he even bothered to shower, he just stood under the stream of hot water, hoping against hope that it would scald him and do enough damage to his skin so that he wouldn’t have to.
It was the one thing he was afraid of doing.
He hated his life. He was always wishing for it to end, but no matter what happened, he could never make the move to do it himself.
He didn’t want the pain of the razor slicing through his skin. He didn’t want to jump off a bridge and be alive long enough to feel the water fill his lungs. Suffocating himself by running a tube from the exhaust of his Jeep into the vehicle wasn’t an option – he would be found before his time ran out.
He had heard of instances where people had gone from tanning salon to tanning salon all-day and ended up literally cooking their insides.
He didn’t want the pain.
Swallowing a bottle of pills was out of the question. He could always change his mind at the last minute and force himself to vomit. Not that he would.
He had the option of hanging himself. He was always good at making the hangman’s noose knot in Boy Scouts. But there could be no room for error.
He weighed all his choices carefully and came to one conclusion.
He walked out to the garage to his Jeep where he had left the purchase he had made a few days earlier. It was time.
His new acquisition lay on the seat beside him as he drove a few miles down the road to the lake. It was the middle of February, so he highly doubted that anyone would be there to interfere with his plans.
It was almost over and he felt so relieved that he wanted to laugh. He reached over and caressed the bag that hid his purchase from view – and the one accessory he knew he would need.
He stopped the Jeep on the beach – it was always one of his favorite spots when life just got too hectic. It was poetic justice though. It was the same place where the one he loved told him that it could never work out. Apparently Chris wasn’t as committed to the relationship as JC was.
With a deep calming breath, JC withdrew the smooth, cold metal weapon from the bag and loaded it with a single bullet. There was no room for error. Once he pulled the trigger he couldn’t change his mind.
He placed the barrel into his mouth and squeezed.
Shades of Grey
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